The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (12 page)

“Oh, my God, Lady Elizabeth, whatever has happened?” George asked, his voice full of concern as he reached over to take her hand in his. He placed his other hand atop hers, stroking it gently.

Suddenly embarrassed and a bit surprised that he would take her hand in his, Elizabeth took a deep breath, her glance dropping to his hands.
I have to tell someone!
“This is not nearly so tragic as what Lady Charlotte has had to endure, I assure you. In fact, you both will likely find it ... humorous. Even so, you must promise you won’t ... please say you won’t laugh at me.” This edict was directed at both George and Charlotte. “And you cannot think ill of me, for I was not a willing participant,” she added with a quick shake of her head.

“Of course, I will not,” George promised, his hands tightening over one of hers. He felt her pulse quicken. Was he holding her hand too tightly and cutting off her circulation? He didn’t sense she wanted him to let go, so he simply held on.

“
I
certainly will not,” Charlotte agreed, now hanging onto Elizabeth’s other hand.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, causing the tears that had welled up to spill out the corners. “I experienced my first kiss earlier this evening,” she announced quietly, her eyes opening and still bright with tears. “I did not initiate it, of course. It happened quite by surprise,” she said in her own defense. There were those who thought a kiss before marriage scandalous, after all. “And it was
horrible
!” She could hardly believe she was telling a stranger she’d been kissed! And badly.
What must this man think of me?

Glancing at Elizabeth’s empty champagne glass, Charlotte realized why her friend’s tongue was so loose.

George’s first thought had him believing he had somehow become the brunt of a joke the two girls were playing. Perhaps Elizabeth had seen him behind the hedgerow and knew he had been witness to at least the sound of her kiss with Butter Blond. But Charlotte’s mouth had dropped open before she had a chance to cover it with her free hand. She looked suitably stunned by Elizabeth’s announcement. George wondered if her shock was because Elizabeth had admitted to being kissed or if she was shocked because the kiss had been horrible.

He fished his handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket, silently praising Elkins for having insisted he take one with his initials embroidered in one corner. Handing it to Lady Elizabeth, he said quietly. “I wish to offer my sincerest condolences, Lady Elizabeth, and assure you that whoever kissed you probably lacked any ... proper instruction ... in the art of kissing,” he managed to get out, his voice sounding appropriately solemn.

Glancing about the chambers to see who was still awake, George remembered that particular line about the ‘art of kissing’ and felt especially proud he’d been able to pull it off with such aplomb. The reactions from Lady Elizabeth and Lady Charlotte were priceless.

“Proper instruction?” Charlotte repeated, her eyes once again wide with surprise.

“The art of kissing?” Elizabeth repeated, her attention entirely on George. “It’s an
art
?”

George’s eyes flicked between the two ladies. “Well, of course,” he replied hesitantly, rather enjoying the attention the women showered on him at that moment. A brilliant idea formed in his head, almost too fast for him to fully consider before he blurted, “Should you wish me to, I would be happy to help erase the memory of that horrible kiss with one far more suited to you, Lady Elizabeth.”

Besides her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ to match the one that already adorned Lady Charlotte’s face, Lady Elizabeth batted her eyelashes at least three times, apparently in surprise.

If she created any kind of breeze in doing so, George was not aware of it.

His own eyes were so captivated by the aquamarine of hers that he could not look away. Indeed, he decided he could drown in them quite happily. (He’d be dead, of course, but then he wouldn’t have to sit in chambers and be bored by the proceedings – so bored that he wished he were dead.)

The impertinence of his offer suddenly struck him, though, and he finally closed his own eyes, breaking the spell she had cast over him. “Forgive me,” he begged then, swallowing in disgust at himself.
What have I done?
He was convinced he had ruined his chances with the beautiful woman.

Apologize!
He could hear Josephine’s voice in his head even as he realized he must make amends.

“Lady Elizabeth, it was most ... inappropriate of me to make you such an offer. Can you ever forgive me?” He dared to look into her eyes again and was surprised by what he found there. For he found her gaze was not one of disgust or offense, but rather one of ... interest ... intrigue, perhaps, as if his suggestion held some merit for her.

“Are you claiming, George Bennett-Jones, that you are a better kisser than Lord Trenton?” Elizabeth wondered, her voice so low he barely heard it above the din of nearby diners. Her lips were entirely too close to his jaw, so close he could feel her warm breath wash over his skin. If he turned his face just so, he could capture those lips with his own and prove his point that very instant. But the words she had just spoken were finally percolating into his addled brain.

Are you a better kisser than Lord Trenton?

So it
was
Gabriel Wellingham, he of the butter blond curls and cool blue eyes and blue satin breeches and matching topcoat, who was the
horrible kisser
!

George had to use every control he possessed to keep his face impassive and to prevent his impulse to shout out in pure, unadulterated joy. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he agreed with a careful nod, allowing his face to take on the expression that Josephine assured him made him look most handsome. He dared a glance at Charlotte, wondering if she was privy to Elizabeth’s words. Would he need to prove himself to her, too? Because, as he gave
that
thought some consideration, he realized he had no intention of kissing the woman Joshua Wainwright was destined to marry.

But he suddenly had
every
intention of kissing Lady Elizabeth Carlington.

“I must think on this,” Elizabeth replied quietly, swallowing nervously and taking a deep breath as she continued to regard him with those gorgeous aquamarine eyes.

“Of course,” George stated, nodding with what he hoped looked like reassurance. Thinking fast, he realized his moment of opportunity was about to pass. The musicians would begin to play shortly, and those in the supper room would soon be making their way back to the ballroom. “May I inquire, Lady Elizabeth, do you plan to attend Lady Worthington’s ball?” The widow always hosted an early autumn ball, an event considered a requirement for unmarried ladies to attend as Lady Worthington saw to it that every eligible bachelor worth any kind of fortune was invited.

At one point, George thought she hosted the event so that she could find a suitable groom for herself.

Lady Worthington had been married to Samuel Worthington, a self-made man who had earned his fortune building the early steamships. When he died quite suddenly, the glamorous woman was left with a vast fortune – a fortune entirely available for her to spend as she saw fit. Her charities included help for war orphans and war widows, but many suitors hoped she could be persuaded to marry so that she might use it to pay off their gambling debts.

William Weston (a distant cousin to John Weston, the tailor) had almost managed to get Lady Worthington to the altar. Her discovery of his excessive debts prompted the widow to call off the wedding, however. She’d later explained to a friend that the damning information had been delivered in the form of a letter from Lady Ellsworth, who claimed to have learned of Weston’s debts when she overheard her husband talking with Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington. George thought it rather fortuitous timing for the earl, for no sooner had the wedding been called off than Grandby began calling on the widow. The two had spent the entire Season attending every event as a couple and most of the summer together at his estate. Now Grandby would be standing alongside Lady Worthington, playing host for the ball that would take place two night’s hence.

“Oh, yes. I am very much looking forward to it,” Elizabeth stated as she included Charlotte in her answer by turning her attention to her friend. “You are coming, too, Lottie?” she asked rhetorically. “Lady Worthington’s balls are always the very best.”

Charlotte smiled demurely. “I will be there, of course,” she agreed, and then leaned around Elizabeth to ask George, “And are you planning to attend, George?” She seemed to struggle with using his first name, as if she thought she was committing some kind of faux pax by being so familiar.

“Indeed. In fact, I asked in the hopes that I might secure an early reservation on your dance cards. I expect you’ll both be rather in demand, and if I should be a bit late in arriving, I would be bereft at finding your cards already full,” he explained, one open hand landing on his chest as he made the claim.

Elizabeth giggled, a charming sound that forced him to regard her for a moment, his gaze once again mesmerized by her aquamarine eyes. “I shall leave
two
dances for you, George,” she said then, her smile slowly disappearing until she added, “But that does not mean we have to spend the time dancing.” This last line was delivered in a near whisper, her face turned toward him completely so that Charlotte could not overhear nor see her lips move.

The connotation of her statement was perfectly clear to George. His heart leapt in his chest, and he suddenly had trouble breathing.

“And I shall leave you one,” Charlotte promised, unaware that George was about to expire from the sheer excitement Elizabeth’s hint had caused in him.

The sounds of instruments being tuned filtered into the supper room, and the murmur of conversation halted as those around them began to take their leave. George nodded to Charlotte, “Thank you, my lady,” he acknowledged as he stood up and offered his hand to Elizabeth. “May I escort you two back to the ballroom?” he asked then, hoping his voice was louder than the pounding of his heart.

He was sure everyone in the room could hear it.

“I believe I have that honor,” David Carlington said as he stepped up behind the ladies. The Marquess of Morganfield, his green eyes especially bright from having drunk a few too many glasses of champagne, nodded at George. “Thank you for escorting my daughter,” he added with a nod to George. Although the statement might have seemed perfunctory to anyone listening, George did not take offense.

“It was my pleasure,” George nodded to him. “Ladies, I shall take my leave. I look forward to dancing with you both at Lady Worthington’s ball,” his eyebrow cocked just a fraction in Elizabeth’s direction. “My lord,” he added as he bowed. Once Morganfield acknowledged his bow with a slight nod, George took his leave of the supper room and headed straight for the card room.

Chapter 10
An Odd Night Reviewed

Lady Elizabeth placed her hand on her father’s arm while Lady Charlotte did the same on the other side of the marquess. Elizabeth was tempted to watch George as he took his leave of the supper room, but she forced herself to look instead to her father.

“Was it really alright that he escorted me to supper?” Elizabeth wondered as she followed her father’s lead. “The Duke of Somerset suffered a mishap of some sort,” she added as she realized her father was frowning.

“The heel of His Grace’s shoe came loose,” the marquess explained as he paused to allow Charlotte to precede him through the ballroom doors. Charlotte stepped aside to allow him and Elizabeth to come alongside once they were through the crowded opening. “It was most fortuitous that you had someone come to your rescue,” he added as he grinned, his smile a bit crooked. “Better George than some rake.”

Elizabeth stepped back near a palm and turned to regard her father. “You know him then?” she asked, her lips left parted by her question.

David Carlington paused mid-step, as if pondering the question. “Of course. An honorable man. I would trust him with you,” he commented as his gaze swept the room, his eyes finally finding his prey. “I will leave you ladies to your dancing. My next dance partner has just come out of the retiring room, and she looks quite lovely, wouldn’t you agree?”

Gasping, Elizabeth turned to look in the direction her father indicated. Seeing her red satin-clad mother making her way in their direction, she smiled broadly. “Oh, Father. You are such a romantic,” she whispered hoarsely, hoping he wouldn’t scold her for the tease.

She was secretly pleased her father seemed so much in love with her mother.

It hadn’t always been that way. When Elizabeth was younger, her parents carried on as if their arranged marriage would never be anything more than a marriage of convenience. Once her younger brother was born, her father renewed his contract with his long-time mistress, and her mother busied herself with affairs of the marquessate and various charities. If the marchioness cuckolded her husband, she did so most discretely, for there was never any scandal associated with the Carlingtons. But Elizabeth lived with the estrangement long enough to realize something wasn’t quite right in her parents’ relationship. They loved one another, she was sure, but didn’t seem to know how to go about being a husband and wife. When scandal erupted, it did so on the political front. Her father was forced to give up his power and influence in Parliament. There had been several weeks when neither of her parents were in residence at Carlington House. And then ... things slowly changed.

Now, Adeline and David Carlington behaved like happily married newlyweds.

Elizabeth grinned as she watched them meet on the dance floor, finally turning to her friend when she realized Charlotte was trying to get her attention.

She followed Charlotte as her older friend led her to the retiring room. Once inside, they rushed to take a place on one of the chaise lounges.

“What was
that
all about?” Lady Charlotte asked as she watched Elizabeth shake her skirts out before taking a seat next to her. Charlotte’s gloved hand clutched Elizabeth’s wrist and shook it, a testament to her building curiosity.

Realizing Charlotte referred to the supper they’d shared with George Bennett-Jones, Elizabeth finally settled her gaze on her best friend. “I have absolutely no idea!” she replied, her head shaking a bit. A delighted grin graced her face. The events of the last hour had been most odd!

Just the day before, she’d received a short missive from Elizabeth Cunningham Statton, the Duchess of Somerset, imploring her to see to it the duke danced at least once during the Weatherstone ball.
I know this will seem awkward, but if Jeremy does not ask upon your meeting him (and he had better, as I have ordered him to do so, and he knows what my retribution will be if he does not), then please offer your arm and insist he join you for a turn about the room. I would hate to think of him keeping company with a potted palm, and he would do that very thing as he is more bored by playing cards than by plant life. The children and I will join him in London in a fortnight, a prospect I find more exciting than I can describe here. This will be my first Little Season in London in over five years, and I finally have my figure restored to the way it was when I married my duke. I have every intention of attending every ball! I so look forward to seeing you again, Sincerely yours, Beth.